Stitched Amnesia
by CarolinaPhoenix
Summary: "Peeta anchors at her waist, while his lips burn a sultry trail of fire from her jaw down to her chest. In that moment Peeta has a flash of confusion. Feeling like he's done this before…but not with her..."


**A/N: **_Stiched Amnesia came to me one night and I just had to write it! It was one of those moments where I literally thumbed out half this story on my phone in the middle of the night... It was that intense! I really wanted to explore what was happening to Peeta while he was being held captive by President Snow. It gives an imaginative explaination of the Capital's methods! It is the Capital after all... So nothing is off limits! _

_I am a huge Katniss and Peeta fangirl... So this piece actually scares me that it actually spilled out of my mind! However, I do enjoy Katniss paired with Gale, Finnick and even Haymitch! (Howlynn- you dirty girl) So Why not Peeta have a little fun... instead of getting his heart broke all the time! ;) This piece will actually be a companion to another story is currently in the works. This just came out in some serious character development! I do hope you enjoy!_

_*** Special THANKS to ELLENKA! For painstakingly editing this for me, cleaning up my big mess! Who inspires me to be a better more imaginative writer! Wish I could say, "checks in the mail!" ;) Of course who makes me fall more deeply obsessed with Gale with every new chapter or story she writes!_

_Warning: Mature Content Ahead... Proceed with caution!_

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><p><strong>Stitched Amnesia <strong>

They've been held together for at least a few weeks now. Neither one of them knows for sure how long it's been, but their hope is beginning to fade away. At least they have each other and her useless bag of supplies.

They are both unsure of who else is being held prisoner with them. Portia hasn't seen her prep team since they were abducted and brought in as prisoners. She fears they're already dead. Yet deep inside her heart she wishes it to be true. Peeta recognizes Johanna Mason's voice, to be the one in the neighboring cell block. Her screams confirm his thoughts.

They are all taken individually to "the room." Peeta is escorted by three large gun-wielding peacekeepers. He catches her eyes as they cuff him and lead him away. In her eyes he can see several different emotions simultaneously: fear, love, angst, pain, and fear for him. The smaller peacekeeper blindfolds him.

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><p>The room is cold and smells of antiseptic or bleach. The peacekeepers bind him to a chair of sorts that stands in the middle of the room. The darkness of the unknown causes Peeta to feel anxious. He hears voices behind him and feet shuffling around the room. "We are ready, sir," a voice calls out stoically.<p>

"Very good. Then, let it begin," replies the snake-like voice. Peeta recognizes it immediately as the voice of none other than President Snow himself. Peeta decides that at least pretending to remain calm and keeping quiet is the best thing he can do to keep fulfilling his mission. Right now he only has one mission. The same mission he's had since he was reaped onto the Hunger Games: to keep Katniss Everdeen alive.

He feels a sharp sting in the crease of his right arm. He recognizes it immediately as a needle of some sort and feels the cool liquid flow from the injection site.

"Mr. Mellark, it seems our previous methods..." the Capitol voice from behind him begins to say, but stops midway. Peeta senses someone hovering over him. Then a hand yanks the blindfold down from his face, leaving it hanging around Peeta's neck.

Peeta's eyes squint frantically as they adjust to the bright lighting in the sterile white room. The man moves in front of Peeta, only mere inches from his face.

"Well... We are moving onto a new method to prevent this war the rebels are trying to start," the man says this as a matter of fact, yet something in his tone doesn't quite feel right.

Peeta glances quickly around the room taking in his surroundings, while trying not to show the panic radiating inside his mind. It's a small bright white room and there's a very large screen in front of him. He's only ever seen screens that big in the square back home, designated for the mandatory viewings of the Games. He notices that to the left of him is obviously an observation window, because why else do you need a poor quality mirror in a room like this? As he glances down at his restrained body, he experiences a temporary moment of relief when he sees the IV in his arm is only attached to normal saline solution.

Peeta quickly returns his attention to the man in front of him. _Looks like a man of intelligence_, he sums up. Maybe he's a professor at a fancy university or possibly a doctor. If he saw this man anywhere else, he would have thought these things of him. Never the mad-scientist he clearly is... Because who else would be working in a torture room under the guidance of President Snow?

"Mr. Mellark, we are running short on time. Your cooperation is greatly appreciated," states the man as if they were arranging a business deal.

Peeta rolls his eyes. "Glad to be of assistance," he says nonchalantly. _Do I have a fucking choice? You have me strapped down in some sort of chair_. He wants to scream, yet keeps the thought inside.

"Very well Mr. Mellark," begins the mad-scientist in his Capitol accent. "This accelerated approach begins with an amnesiac drug." Peeta looks at the man with skepticism. "This particular hybrid concoction specifically targets certain areas of the brain… Areas of the brain that affect strong emotions and memories."

Peeta absorbs these words and wonders when they are just going to kill him. _Is this their plan for me? Just to torture me and then have me put on a façade for television interviews? And what are they doing to Portia? The only thing she's guilty of is being associated with me._ Million thoughts are running through his mind at once. He's beginning to doubt the likelihood of his own survival. His plan all along has been to keep Katniss alive. So the fact that she's living safely in Thirteen means his mission was a success. In the last few seconds he retains his free mind, Peeta whispers, "I love you Katniss," so quietly to himself, like a mumbled last prayer. ..

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><p>The door to their cell swings open violently, startling Portia. The peacekeepers return Peeta to the cell. They throw him in the room, letting his weak body drop to the floor face down. Portia stays in her corner, eyes unwavering and her body unmoving until the door shuts behind them.<p>

She is flooded with relief, as she was each time they brought him back. She figured they killed the rest of their prep team and Cinna. She was still unsure of why they left her alive. She knows deep down, that she will be turned into another instrument of torture against Peeta. There's no end to their cruelty.

Portia moves over and sits right down next to Peeta. She ever so gently begins to run her fingers through Peeta's now sweat-matted blonde curls. "Peeta," she hums his name softly. He slowly turns over in response, rolling his head onto her lap. Those blue eyes lock instantly on hers, causing warm relief to saturate her body.

She smiles down at him. _Thankfully he is here, okay... alive_. Peeta reaches up, places his right hand on the side of her face, feeling her smile under his hand. "It's okay," she whispers, "we're together now." Portia continues to smooth Peeta's hair, in a protective, sheltering and calming manner.

Portia feels something warm and wet seep on her leg, where Peeta's head lays. She wipes her leg to wipe away what she presumes to be Peeta's sweat. The gleam of color causes her to yank her hand back instantly to examine it. Sure enough it's blood.

She reaches down, frantically searching Peeta for the source of the blood. Peeta's arm is bleeding from the restraints they used on him. Portia's mind is reeling as she fears what they were doing to him. When he reached his hand up to her cheek, the blood trailed downward, pooling in her lap. "Peeta let me fix that," she asks as she slides his head off her lap so she can retrieve her bag. Peeta doesn't offer anything other than his famous smile. In their current situation, she stops for a moment and ponders how he can still offer her a genuine smile.

Peeta sits on the side of the bed. Portia slides the small stool, which up until that moment looks completely out of place, directly in front of Peeta. She positions herself with one knee in between his legs, so she can be close enough to stitch the wound closed. All she can think about is the pain he may feel, and she internally hopes whatever they did before can help at this moment. "Peeta," she says, causing his blue eyes to meet her own. "This may hurt a little, but we need to do it." She gives him a reassuring smile. "Just breathe through it, okay?"

Peeta nods his head in compliance.

Maybe it's the close proximity of their bodies or maybe it's the fact that he needs her to stitch his arm. There's nervous energy growing between them. Peeta watches her serious face as she examines his wound. The concentration that shows in her eyes and face reminds him of something. The thought brings a sharp pain in his head. He winces at the flash of pain, and it brings a round of frustration and confusion. _There's something I can feel, but why don't I know or remember?_ Peeta questions himself.

Portia notices his consternation and can feel the tension in the atmosphere around them. "Do I make you nervous?" she laughs in attempt to lighten the mood.

Peeta smiles shyly. "No."

"Okay ... Good," she says as she grabs his arm. "Peeta close your eyes." He raises his eyebrow questioningly, yet obliges her request. "I've never seen a real winter in my life. I don't know what it's like to see snowflakes and icicles, nor have I felt the cold wind on my face." She steadies her supplies in her lap, threading the needle in preparation. "Tell me what it's like… what it looks like… what it feels like."

Peeta begins painting a beautiful winter landscape with his words. As images of snowflakes fall, and a winter valley unfolds around them, Portia begins stitching his wound. He slightly cringes at the penetrating needle, but steadily continues his descriptive story. Portia is leaning into his body with her face steady in concentration as she fixes him. Peeta watches her in awe. He appreciates her caring help, but he's beginning to feel something else about her too. She looks so beautiful as she concentrates on her delicate stitching. The way her eyebrow furrows, or the satisfied smiles that cross her lips each time she begins a new row.

He knows she asked him to tell her the story about winter to take his mind off the stitching. Another wave of appreciation rolls through him. Their bodies are so close to each other. He can feel the heat of her body next to his. The way their legs are laced together in this position is bringing a new feeling to him…_Desire._ Peeta begins to run his free hand on his leg, trying to sort out these new feelings growing inside him. He's not sure how long they've been locked up there. He's not sure how much time they have left in this life. But right now, with this beautiful woman in front of him, he wants to feel alive.

Portia stitches his wound, thankful that her so-far useless bag of sewing supplies turned out to be a lifesaver. She notices his hand fidgeting nervously underneath them. The sight of it makes her smile, because it means that _he's_ back. Putting in the last few stitches, she senses him staring at her. She closes off the last stitch and looks to him.

With his sky blue eyes locked on hers with such fervor, her heartbeat intensifies, for the first time not out of fear. Their position puts them only a mere few inches away from one another... Peeta reaches out, cupping her face between his strong hands. "Thank you," he whispers. Portia can feel the anticipation growing between them. The desire for what is going to happen next.

Peeta is eighteen and she is five years older than him. But, Peeta's a man, a strong, loving, protective man. She's well aware of the fact, that there's a real good chance that one or both of them will be dead soon. In that moment of realization, Portia closes her eyes, slightly surprised to feel his lips press gently against hers. She sucks in a sharp breath of surprise laced with small hints of passion as she pulls back to read his eyes.

Portia has always thought of Peeta to be more of a man than most men her age. How could a man who's lived only eighteen years on this earth hold the wisdom of many lifetimes? Until this moment she's thought of him as a tribute, as a caring and selfless man, and of course as Peeta. Now as his eyes seem to smolder her own, the atmosphere is changing. The dynamic is changing. The back of her mind, something unsettles her. _Could this be part of their games?_ she questions herself. Portia understands the Capitol is limitless when it comes to their treatments and tortures.

She knows they beat Cinna to death in front of Katniss as she ascended into the arena. The prep team...they must be dead. They haven't heard their screams or cries in days. When they take Peeta away, something is changing within him... He's slowly becoming someone else.

Portia has been to "the room." They questioned her multiple times about Cinna and Haymitch. They showed her the photos of Cinna's bloodied and battered body. She assumes they must have inkling that she doesn't know a thing about the rebels or the Mockingjay.

She's heard the screams of their prep team, and although theirs have stopped, Johanna Mason's continue almost nightly. She questions, _maybe this is my torture?_ Fear... Hearing their screams… Fear every time they take Peeta away. Her tortures continue by experiencing something that resembles relief when he returns.

Peeta delicately slides his hand from the sides of her cheeks around to the nape of her neck. When your life seems to be hanging on the balance between life and death, daily, the caring touch of another human is entirely welcome._ It feels so good. _She let's go of her trepidations, delegating all control to her body.

Peeta pulls Portia to him, crashing his lips to hers. The feel of her response sends him into a frenzied fit of passion. They both could die at any moment; why not give in to their needs? His hands firmly grasp her hips, pulling her body close to his. The heat radiating from their bodies as she straddles his lap fuels their desires. It fuels the moment. It fuels their need.

Peeta has always done everything right. The perfect gentleman. But now, he doesn't care. He knows what he wants and he's going to claim it. The act of Peeta living out his own feral needs is enough to push her last reservations aside.

She pulls away from their kiss, resting her forehead against his."Peeta," she exhales, "What are they doing to you?" Portia asks, catching her breath and trying to grip this new reality.

Peeta answers by kneading his fingers up her back, sweeping her hair over to his left, leaving her neck open as a clean canvas. He leans in and her skin is suddenly ablaze under his lips. "Peeta," she breathes heavily. _Everything about this moment… right now… it just feels too good to stop_. Portia considers it selfish, but what the hell… she's most likely going to be dead soon. Why not give him what he wants? What they both want it this very moment.

His hands firmly grab the hem of her shirt, and it's like they can't get it off fast enough. Her hands curl into the fabric of his shirt, in response to the cold air stinging her smoldering skin. Peeta anchors at her waist, while his lips burn a sultry trail of fire from her jaw down to her chest. In that moment Peeta has a flash of confusion. Feeling like he's done this before…but not with _her._ He pulls away to look at her, and quickly pushes off the confusion, because right now he has more pressing urges.

Portia senses his hesitation."Have you ever been with a woman before?" She asks, unsure of his next move. He smiles sheepishly and she doesn't need to hear his answer out loud. "It should be special then." She turns her gaze away from his. "Somebody you love...a woman who will become your wife."

Peeta reaches over to her, sliding his thumb under her chin. He tilts it upward so her green eyes are looking right into his own. "You are special," he affirms to her, trailing his hands slowly up her thighs. His hands, her flesh, it just feels so incredibly good. "Who really knows our fate Portia?" he whispers in-between hot kisses. "Let's enjoy what happiness we have left."

Portia absorbs Peeta's words and turns over control to her body. Letting their needs navigate what the future brings. Not wanting her to waste anymore of their precious time doubting his seriousness, Peeta wraps his arms tightly around her and lays her down on the bed. Lost within their kiss, she hardly even notices they've changed positions. What tipped her off was the sting of the cold sheet under her, where only a few seconds before Peeta's warm hands were roaming.

Peeta steadily hovers over her, admiring her beauty. Eyes saunter over her topless body underneath him, Peeta excitedly views her beautiful body as a blank canvas for him to sensually paint. Portia recognizes his eyes shine with avidity in the way he looks at her. She moves her hands under his shirt, fingers gliding across the smooth planes of his chest. Peeta's breath hitches under her touch. Wanting to feel more, he yanks the shirt over his head and throws it to the side. His once sky blue eyes are now black pools of lust, want and something else Portia can't name…

Through the restraints, battery and other various methods of torture they've been subject to since their captivity, these welcome and wanted touches are proving too much to handle. A thought interrupts this moment of bliss. Portia knows there are cameras in here. _They have to be watching. So why aren't they stopping their charade? _

"Peeta," she lets out in a moan. He takes it as a push for more as his lips and hands begin to roam further south. Portia is slipping into this Peeta-induced euphoria. Hands under hemlines, lips against hot flesh… it just feels _too good, _they both press for more. The fire burning inside of both of them yearns and reminds them they're very much alive.

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><p>Peeta abruptly stops. "<em>Katniss<em>?" He says questioningly, shaking his head in confusion. He quickly retracts to sitting on the end of the bed. Afraid to look at Portia, confirming this is not some sort of dream.

She pulls herself to sitting, adjusting herself to comfort him. "Peeta," she whispers softly. "It's okay, you didn't do anything wrong." He looks over towards her; finally those sky blue eyes meet her own. "We're just two people who needed and shared a moment of bliss together." She smiles at him, "It's beautiful."

"I'm sorry," Peeta offers in a defeated sigh. "I'm sorry for everything Portia."

_There is no end to their tortures. Nothing is off limits. Even this… the most basic human needs and urges. They managed to use against us, turning this moment between us into just another piece of their games. "_Peeta," she says, demanding his attention. "Don't ever be sorry." She motions between their two bodies, "This… you and me. Don't be sorry. It was wonderful and completely natural."

Peeta sits up a little straighter and turns his body and gaze towards her, "Okay."

"Don't let them win Peeta." She looks at him, as if asking the _do you understand what I mean? _"This was about us and NOT them."

The door to their cell swings open fast and two peacekeepers barge in. Peeta jumps to his feet in on quick motion, standing in a protective position in front of Portia. The peacekeepers forcefully move Peeta, grabbing Portia as she struggles to get dressed. The door slams shut... and she's gone.

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><p><strong>AN: **_Thanks for reading... Reviews are like winning the lottery! If you liked it... or even if you think I crossed **that** line! ;) -Carolina Phoenix_


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